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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24154513">Servant to His Majesty, Friend of his Highness</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beginning_Returner/pseuds/Beginning_Returner'>Beginning_Returner</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>18th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abuse, Also meeting anyone nice is hell when you're the prince, And Winterfeldt, Anyway Wilhelmine is awesome, August Wilhelm is uwu, Blood and Injury, Don't copy to another site, He really does T_T, Let's face it most of crown prince Frederick's life was Linkin Park's "Numb" stuck on repeat, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Seeing the prince go through hell and not being able, and Father has Narcissistic Personality Disorder and has to control your life, he tries, to do a damn thing because you're a servant is shit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 19:54:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,958</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24154513</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beginning_Returner/pseuds/Beginning_Returner</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For Winterfeldt, being the personal servant of a man who is both a king and a narcissistic father isn't easy. For Frederick, being the child who has to suffer at the father's hands is even worse. This is the story of how the adjutant and the crown prince came to know each other.</p><p>Chapter 1: An unexpected kindness from the King's adjutant leaves Frederick in illicit possession of a monogrammed handkerchief. But how to return it without attracting his father's attention?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Friedrich II von Preußen | Frederick the Great/Hans Karl von Winterfeldt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Servant to His Majesty, Friend of his Highness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>If you want to, you can feel free to follow me anytime <a href="https://twitter.com/ModoruMono03">here</a> and <a href="https://modoru-mono.tumblr.com/">here</a>. I mainly reblog history stuff and the occasional WIP update to my next fics!</p><p>Many thanks to Peanut (whom you can find <a href="https://twitter.com/peanutmga">here</a> and <a href="https://peanutgaga.tumblr.com/">here</a>) for providing the incredibly gorgeous illustrations and giving feedback on the story, couldn't have done it without you, pardner! Folks, if you liked the pics, go give Peanut a holler if you feel like it!</p><p>For those unfamiliar with some of the characters, I furnish below a list of the other persons appearing in the text:</p><p>
</p><p><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wilhelmine_of_Bayreuth">Wilhelmine</a>, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prince_Augustus_William_of_Prussia">August</a>, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hans_Karl_von_Winterfeldt">Winterfeldt</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>THE TIME IS early 1730.</em>
</p><p>The blood sprayed, spattering across the parquet. Frederick staggered, face whiplashing from the force of the blow. Face marbled red with rage like a fatty steak, Papa's hands made for the prince's neck. But Frederick danced backward and the fingers only managed to rip his cravat away.</p><p>The prince turned to the window in an attempt to escape, but his father was on him before he could move, fist crawling deep into his hair. Frederick did his best to stem the agony by holding on to the gripping arm with both hands. He swayed, lost his balance on one foot, and then the other when the next blow fell on his eye. As his father dragged him across the floor, he flung both legs out and put one foot over the other so that he spun in a full circle, twisting him out of Papa's grip.</p><p>

</p><p>He steadied himself with one palm against the floor and looked up, blood running from his nose and down across his lips.</p><p>The next blow fell across his arm, and he collapsed on the floor, barely having time to crouch up in a vain effort to protect himself from the rain of kicks and hits that followed.</p><p>When he was done, his father looked at the bloodied mass before him. "There'll be no more scented hair powder in this house, you frenchifying child."</p><p>He left without a backward glance, as Frederick agonizingly pulled himself up, gasping, coughing, blood spilling from his mouth onto the wooden floor panels. The bruises on his ribs made each breath feel like a wound.</p><p>His eyes were filled with cold fire as he stared after the retreating figure of Papa.</p><p>The king's adjutants silently filed out after him. Frederick barely saw their feet pass by. But one pair of white gaiters seemed to pause a moment in passing, and suddenly the prince saw a small package, wrapped in a handkerchief, drop down next to him.</p><p>

</p><p>He surreptitiously shifted so that one of his coattails covered the item and waited until all had left the room to retrieve the object and stuff it in his waistcoat pocket.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Wilhelmine retired to bed early that day, then slipped out via the servant's passage as soon as she heard her maid snoring from the antechamber.</p><p>When she reemerged in her brother's quarters, she found him in his nightshirt in front of the vanity, dabbing some ointment on the bruises on his eye and cheek, and wincing as he did so. She approached him quietly from behind and waved in the mirror. Frederick started briefly, but did not yelp. He and his sister's misfortunes had trained that instinct out of them from an early age.</p><p>Wilhelmine pulled up a chair to examine his face more closely. "Give me that," she said, taking the jar of ointment from him. "You have to rub it in properly if it is to work at all, I presume." She did her best to apply it with care, though he unavoidably let out small cries and gasps as she covered the centers of the bruises with the balm.</p><p>She looked down at the strong-smelling substance. "Where did you get this? I don't recall seeing it in the doctor's remedy-box before."</p><p>In lieu of an answer, Frederick wordlessly produced a handkerchief from the pocket of his waistcoat, which hung from the back of his chair.</p><p>It was a plain white square, embroidered round the edges in blue. In one corner, were the initials "v.W."</p><p>She looked up. "Who---"</p><p>Again, wordlessly, her brother handed her the lid to the ointment jar. There was a paper label stuck to the outside, which said: "Balm of Arnica. For bruises and sprains, also effective on muscles. Anno 1728, v. Winterfeldt."</p><p>"Von Winterfeldt...That's one of Father's adjutants. But how on earth...?"</p><p>Frederick stood up and folded his arms, staring into the darkness that lay beyond the reach of their two candles. "He contrived to drop his kerchief, with that inside, as he was following Father out of the room." He whirled suddenly, and clasped his sister's hands in his.</p><p>"Wilhemine, I need your help."</p><p>"How so?"</p><p>"I must return that handkerchief to him somehow, and yet, I cannot be seen to do so, otherwise Father will suspect...things...of me again."</p><p>"Can't you just throw it into the fire and be done with it? That'd dispense with any need for artifice." Wilhelmine stood up and headed for the garret.</p><p>"No!" Frederick clapped his hand over his mouth. He'd just said that at a normal volume.</p><p>There ensued a trepidatious silence as they both waited for a reaction outside the bedchamber door. When none ensued, they both breathed a sigh of relief.</p><p>Quietly, Frederick took the cloth from Wilhelmine's hand. He stared at the object by the light of the candle on the toilet table for a moment.</p><p>"Am I so trapped in this palace, that I cannot even express my thanks through the return of a handkerchief?" A guttural sob tore through his throat, but quickly turned into a gasp from the pain of the bruises that covered his torso. He wept as quietly as he could then, the cloth held tenderly to his chest.</p><p>Wilhelmine swept him into a soft embrace. "I'm sorry for even suggesting you burn it, <em>mon cher frère</em>."</p><p>Frederick keened silently into her shoulder for what seemed like hours.</p><p>When he'd grown quiet again, she delicately uncurled his fingers from around the handkerchief. "Never fear, Fréderic, I'll see what help I can enlist to return this to its owner." She turned. "But the label on the ointment, unfortunately, will have to be burnt."</p><p>The prince watched the slip of paper subside to ashes on the fire, as Wilhelmine dried his eyes and reapplied the balm around them.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Though determined to keep her promise to her brother, Wilhelmine knew the task he'd set her was not an easy one. Were <em>she</em> to return the handkerchief instead of Frederick, then Father would just suspect her of fancying the tall officer instead. A ridiculous thought, but Papa had the singular bad habit of entertaining more ridiculous thoughts than most, and that, on a daily basis. Thus, she could not pass it to any of her maids, nor Madame de Sonsfeld her tutor, without the danger of Father thinking the same of them.</p><p>No, ludicrous as the idea first seemed, it was perhaps best to entrust the delivery of the handkerchief to an innocent. But what would he think of the idea?</p><p>She began her inquiry quite innocuously, one evening when the children were gathered in Mama's apartments.</p><p>August Wilhelm was playing with his toy soldiers on the floor, and she fetched a cushion and sat down next to him. For a time, she took great delight in having him recount exactly what battles he was conducting, and how he was mounting a great assault against a high fortress (a small footstool he'd dragged over).</p><p>She asked him about his outings with Papa, if he'd had any lately, and so on. And then, she casually dropped the question in.</p><p>"So, if you're with Papa so often, have you learnt the names of his adjutants yet?"</p><p>August beamed. "Oh yes!" He babbled blithely on, listing most of the aides de camp whose names he remembered, stumbling over the pronunciation at times for the harder ones.</p><p>And then, he did something quite unexpected.</p><p>"But I like Winterfeldt the best," he said, advancing his front rank of soldiers on Mount Footstool.</p><p>"Really? Whyever so?" Wilhelmine helped him move the soldiers forward, as they were deployed quite widely.</p><p>"Once, Papa took me to see the tall soldiers on an inspection, and it was grand, and I got to sit on the shoulders of one of the tallest, but then some beastly officer interrupted and had to talk with Papa for EVER so long, and I was EVER so bored, and the soldier let me back down, and I didn't know what to do, so I decided to go exploring, and that's when Winterfeldt came, and he asked me where I was going, so I told him I was going on an adventure, and he said he'd be my traveling companion."</p><p>Wilhelmine smiled. Presumably the adjutant had gotten discreet permission from Father to supervise August and ensure he didn't get in trouble. She continued helping him advance on the mighty footstool fortress as he babbled on:</p><p>"...And then, we found a patch of grass, and he taught me how to make a grass whistle, and when we had to go back I used it and made Papa jump." August grinned. "I'd never seen Papa jump before." he subsided into a fit of giggles, rolling back on the floor and nearly colliding with the rearguard of his tin soldiers if Wilhelmine had not hastened to sweep them away.</p><p>The fit subsided as quickly as it came, and he sat back up abruptly. "Winterfeldt let me sit on his shoulders too. And he was ALMOST as tall as the soldier in the regiment." August frowned. "Why does Papa have so many tall folk serving him?"</p><p>"Because he likes tall men," said Wilhelmine, bringing the rearguard up sneakily to the other side of Fort Footstool.</p><p>"Yes, but why?"</p><p>"I don't know. He just does, that's all. Sometimes, that's what it's like when you're fond of something."</p><p>"Oh, you mean like Fritz. He likes tall men too, especially if they have a beautiful waistcoat."</p><p>Wilhelmine froze. She looked around, but neither Mama nor any of the other ladies in the room seemed to be paying much attention to their game, they were all reading or sewing or talking by themselves.</p><p>

</p><p>She continued her assault on one of the footstool legs.</p><p>"And how do you know that?"</p><p>"I'd run away from my tutor one day, because the lesson was so BORING, and I must have run through most of the palace, in the servant's passages, and suddenly, I went out into a room and saw Fritz, and he was holding on to another man, and I asked him what he was doing, and he said he was admiring his beautiful waistcoat. And he was right, it was very pretty." He frowned. "I don't know who that man was. He looked nice, though." He grinned again. "And then Fritz showed me how to escape, and I ev-ev-evaded Tutor, all afternoon!"</p><p>"Have you told anyone else that story?" Wilhelmine made a soldier wave his regimental flag from atop the footstool.</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Well then don't, because Father might hear of it, and Father doesn't like pretty things, and he'd be angry with Fritz again."</p><p>"I don't like it when he's angry with Fritz," August said quietly.</p><p>"Neither do I. So let's have that be our secret."</p><p>"On your orders!" The prince flung himself on her. "I love you, 'Mine."</p><p>"I love you too, August."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>In comparison to his elder brother, August Wilhelm was considerably less well prepared to have Wilhelmine materialize in his bedroom. This was only logical, as children were generally not called on to participate in court conspiracies.</p><p>Wilhelmine brusquely clapped her hand over August's mouth before he could shout, drily reflecting that it was perhaps better he learnt now, lest he be taken as a powerless witness in other cabals, as she'd been at his age.</p><p>"'Mine, what are you doing here?" said August in a whisper once he'd finally stopped squirming long enough to notice his sister by the light of her candle.</p><p>"I need your help with something, but it has to stay a secret." August sat up very quickly. Secrets were always a powerful stimulant to children.</p><p>"What is it, 'Mine?"</p><p>Wilhelmine reached into the pocket of her dressing gown and drew out the handkerchief.</p><p>"I need you to give this back to Papa's nice adjutant. I picked it up from the floor when he dropped it the other day."</p><p>"Winterfeldt?" August bounced thoughtfully on the mattress. "But why can't you do it yourself?"</p><p>"Because if I did, Papa would think I am in love with him, and then he'd punish me for having foolish thoughts, for Monsieur de Winterfeldt is married."</p><p>"I don't like it when you're punished, 'Mine. Fritz either." August had unfortunately witnessed several of Father's outbursts already.</p><p>"That is why you must do it."</p><p>"But isn't it lying if I do that?" August frowned. "Lying is a sin, Tutor told me so."</p><p>"But if you go to Winterfeldt, and give him the handkerchief, and say: 'You dropped this a few days ago, so I'm returning it to you,' then you wouldn't be lying at all, right? He <em>did</em> drop it a few days past." Wilhelmine's eyes were sparkling. "You're just not saying who picked it up, that's all."</p><p>August pondered this for a moment, then grinned and pretended to doff a hat in a mock salute. "I accept this mission, Colonel."</p><p>"Oh dear, dear, August! I love you so much." Wilhelmine swept him into a hug.</p><p>"I really don't like seeing you get beaten, 'Mine," August said rather loudly into her shoulder.</p><p>"Shh! Now, I'll fold the handkerchief and put it in your waistcoat. Just remember not to mention me when you give it back, and you'll have accomplished your mission. And if you do, I shall give you an extra sweet from Mama's box, and we shall conduct the next campaign in your carpet warfare."</p><p>"Hurrah!" mock-shouted August, falling over on his bed in excitement. It took Wilhelmine quite a while to calm him down after that, which she did by telling him a tale of the Greek gods.</p><p>Then she tucked him firmly back in, and tiptoed back to her own apartments.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It was a bright, fine day in early spring. Which, in Father's opinion, constituted perfect weather to conduct another review of his favourite regiment in the courtyard of the city palace of Potsdam. His son Frederick, obliged on this occasion to lead the revue, would have much preferred to take a walk in a forest outside the city and serenade its creatures with his flute. And perhaps, meet someone there as well...</p><p>But there was nothing under his feet but the ghastly dust of the parade ground, nothing on his back but that dreadful plain shroud of a uniform, and nothing in his hand but the regulation sword he wore as colonel of his father's regiment of highly prized giants.</p><p>Their turnout was perfect, and Frederick did not think he'd been remiss in any of his commands.</p><p>Doubtless, his father would still find fault with something in the whole affair.</p><p>The king stepped forward, ground scuffing under his feet, raising a cloud that blew away on the breeze. His son stood unmoving. Ever the dutiful soldier for Papa, he would barely flinch when he fell on the blinding white gravel that had soaked up so much of his blood already. He'd let the dirt's wan chalky stain sink into his eyelashes, his coat, his hair, his breeches. He'd wish it would cover him entirely.</p><p>The sky was cloudless, and so were the prince's eyes, for his mind was already far from here, nestled between the branches of one of his favourite willows, whose crooked branches were generous enough to conceal two occupants.</p><p>He waited for the blow to fall.</p><p>Instead, August merrily pranced between father and son, seemingly without a care in the world.</p><p>"Papa," he said, hands carefully placed behind his back. "May I have your permission to speak to your adj-adjutant von Winterfeldt?"</p><p>The king smiled indulgently. "Of course you may, my dear child."</p><p>The little prince skipped up to the tall man and looked gravely up at him with his round eyes.</p><p>Winterfeldt knelt down to meet their gaze properly. "Yes, your Highness?"</p><p>The prince was fiddling with something in his pocket. Finally, he drew out a monogrammed handkerchief. "You dropped this the other day, Winterfeldt. I am returning it to you now."</p><p>Faintly, over the child's shoulder, the adjutant saw the silhouette of Frederick, standing at attention, perfectly still. The crown prince blinked once, very slowly, long eyelashes bowing in recognition where the other parts of him could not. From what Winterfeldt could see, the bruise under his eye was healing well. He blinked in return to Frederick, then quickly turned his eyes back to August.</p><p>"Thank you, your Highness. Your kindness is much appreciated." He bowed and took the handkerchief, mouth crinkling with mirth. August smiled back at him, his great round eyes sparkling with mischief.</p><p>"Such a courteous, honest little gentleman you are, my son," said Frederick William, coming up and ruffling his hair. "So well-mannered and forthright, unlike a certain brother of yours."</p><p>His other reprimands for the crown prince seemingly forgotten, he turned and headed back toward the castle, leaving Frederick behind to march the giants to their barracks.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Winterfeldt stuffed the kerchief in his coat pocket and studiously ignored it for the rest of the day. Only when he'd retired for the night to his small room under the eaves, and hung up his coat on its hook, did he take out the cloth, and stare at the unassuming object by the light of his candle. He lifted it to his nose. The prince had taken to wearing cologne as of late, and the handkerchief still smelled heavily of it.</p><p>He knew not how long he stood there, breathing in its scent, but when he next cast an eye upon the candle, it was already one-seventh burnt. He sighed, and, fetching the basin and some soap, washed it clean of any odour. It would not do for the prince's perfume to linger on his belongings.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>the city palace of Potsdam:</b> This one <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/City_Palace,_Potsdam">here</a>. The former inner court gardens were converted into a parade ground by Frederick William I (see <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Stadtschloss_Potsdam2.jpg">here</a> for a picture of what that looked like).</p><p><b>that dreadful plain shroud of a uniform:</b> Teen Fritz referred to the grenadier uniform he wore as his shroud (Blanning, Tim. 2016. <em>Frederick the Great: King of Prussia.</em> New York: Random House, 40).</p><p><b>the candle...was already one-seventh burnt:</b> Using candles to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Candle_clock">tell time</a> was common in this era. One-seventh on a fresh candle meant something like 5-10 minutes on the clock.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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